


Don't Drink The Water

by PleaseCallMeDarkblade



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Captive, Capture, Captured, Golden shower, Jarate, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Tickling, Punishment, Tickling, Urine, Watersports, Wetting, peeing, reader - Freeform, tickle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleaseCallMeDarkblade/pseuds/PleaseCallMeDarkblade
Summary: You are the BLU spy who is captured behind enemy lines by the RED sniper.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This contains non-consensual tickling and urine. Lots of it. Like I hope you brought an umbrella or something because you are in the splash zone.

“You lose!” A cold female voice in your ear piece declares.

No rescue.

You are stuck inside the enemy base with only a glitchy cloaking device and a dagger as protection.

The warm sunlight beats down your skin as you stand perfectly still in the middle of the Red base courtyard. The Reds are out hunting down your helpless teammates whose weapons had been jammed as punishment for losing their intel in battle.

You know respawn is down for the weekend so if you die now you will feel the biting cold of a long wait, something you fear is all too close to actual death.

Above you at the top of the stairs beeps the third level sentry and the controlling engineer. You had almost been to him to place a sapper on the vile machine when the Red scout had scampered back into the base with the Blu intel under one arm.

Perhaps if you had been faster and backstabbed that heavy when you had the chance, or  took out the sniper, or had not let the pyro chase you into the sewers. Maybe then your team could have won the day.

Well you still have your dagger with you so you argue that you could still get at least one more backstab in before finding somewhere to hide.

But who? The engineer is instantly out due to his sentry gun beside him that will blast into gibs you as soon as you stab.

All other enemies are out slaughtering your teammates.

Distantly you hear the searing sound of a rifle higher up in the base and muffled Australian accented words; ‘Ah.. piss’.

A dastardly grin touches your features. Yes, the Australian will do.

You know you must be fast and act quickly before the Reds file into the base. You know if the demoman or soldier bump into you then you might as well make peace with your chosen deity before the explosions come.

Your feet make soft whispers as you creep slowly up the stairs, pausing to wait in the middle so your cloaking device can refill to the maximum. The engineer paces along the ledge and nearly brushes against you but you slip around him at the last possible moment. He doesn’t even notice.

Quickly you walk past the respawn then find yourself out on the sniper area, a high porch where the Australian likes to perch when he picks off your teammates. There the smelly bushman is, crouched at a window with his eye at the scope of his gun. He wouldn’t even notice until it is too late.

You regret that your team has lost but at least you can give them this.

 Slowly you move across the distance towards his open back. You can see the muscles pressing at the red shirt as it seems he has taken his vest off because of the heat in the base. As you get closer you smell sweat on  him and see it trickle down his nape. There is also the faint perfume of some cheap aftershave in the air around him.

You deactivate your cloak and it mummers in wisps of smoke around you. Raising up your dagger high above your head you prepare to shove it down between his shoulder blades, when the floorboard you most recently put your weight on gives a loud creak of betrayal.

Shit.

Your eyes grow wide as your realize your mistake.

“Spy!” The bushman yells as he yanks his own knife from the sheath at his hips. He whirls around on you as you try to step backwards but his legs are longer and he has not been running around all day like you have. He manages to punch you with his empty hand so you fall back onto the floor.

Desperately you smack your cloaking device but it is dark and lifeless on your wrist.  The sniper draws in close and he looks pissed as hell.

Your knife! You look around to see the dagger uselessly on the other side of the room. How did it get there?

He is standing over you, now, his body blocking out all sunlight that comes in from the window behind him.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve slinkin in here after yer team lost, boy.”

Your mind starts working through possible escape plans while another part of you wants to keep the sniper talking so he is less likely to put hot lead in you.

“Shut up.” You growl at him. Well what was stupid, why did you say that? Look at that, you’ve only made him angrier at you.

He bares his teeth and even as you try to scoot backwards he kneels down in front of you with his jagged knife in his hand. Your back presses on the wall. He stabs at you and you wince away but there is no where you can escape to.

As you sit there, awaiting death, you become aware that you are not in pain. At all. You blink open your eyes to see him with his face uncomfortably close to yours. You smell coffee on his breath.

His knife is gone but your coat is tugging against you at an angle. The bastard shoved his knife through the back of your coat collar and into the wall, pinning you like one of the raunchy poster girls the team puts up in the locker room.

You squirm around but he takes your hands with one of his large ones then uses his other to take your tie off. The tie is used to bind your wrists together.

“Now,” He puts his hands on his knees and leans back on his heels. “We are going to work on teaching you some manners.” You don’t trust the wolfish grin he gives you.

His hands are surprisingly gentle as he begins unbuttoning your shirt to expose your chest and tummy to the warm air. You try to stoically glare at him but you are getting increasingly uncomfortable with this touching.

His fingertips trace over your skin with a feather-light touch but when the glide over your side just above your hip your body gives an involuntary twitch. He looks like he has stumbled on gold.

“Ah, found it.” At once he begins attacking your sides with all of his fingers tickling your exposed skin. You squirm around and kick out your legs futilely towards him while you are forced to gasp in pleasure.

He throws one of his legs over yours to pen them down while keeping on his attack. You bite your tongue as your fight the urge to laugh but all this does is force whimpers from you. At last you cannot hold it in and you burst out laughing despite not even wanting to.

His clever hands alternate between the sensitive spots on your sides to slip under your arms and even once he taps on your belly in his cruel punishment. It’s not right! You had expected hot lead between the eyes, maybe an ear sliced off, or being simply tossed off the building. Not this!

You plead for him to stop. You cry for the tickling to end. You try to bargain with him to get him to quit. He just keeps grinning at you like a wolf before a meal as he continues touching you all over. You arch your back up with your eyes closed while begging him to stop before..

Before…

Your thighs immediately clamp shut together in attempt to stop it but it is too late. You look off to the side as you feel your cheeks turn red from the embarrassment of what you have done. It is only now that the sniper stops tickling you.

“Well would you look at that.” He reaches out a hand to touch the wet spot that is still growing on your groin. Did you really need to have that extra cup of coffee this morning? It is impossible for you to stop the flow once it is already started and you want to gag out of disgust as the sniper gives it a rub. “Right shameful, that is.”

You feel your face get hotter.

“If you have to take a piss all you had to do was say so, mate.” The bastard taunts you with a villain grin before he does yet another thing that shocks you. He starts unzipping your fly.

“N-Non! No!” You cry out in fear. Useless.

“I can’t have you sitting in your own dirty water. What sort of teacher would I be if I did that?” He delicately takes your shoes off, then shucks your pants down and off behind them. He pauses when he gets to your soaked silk underwear. “Awful bad smell. Didn’t your parents ever teach you to use a toilet?”

You have never wanted to shoot a person in the face so much in your entire life.

 He pulls these down then off your legs then holds them in his hand close to his face as he gets a good smell of them. You watch with horror as his tongue slips out and licks the wet stain on the underwear.

“Hmm interesting flavor, you must be a man who enjoys his vegetables. Is that a note of asparagus I taste?” He gives it another slow lick with his face like a man enjoying a fine wine.

With a final smell of your underwear he takes the ruined garment and puts it on an empty ammo crate next to his jars of piss and personal items. Of course the bushman would want to keep it. His hand takes one of the jars of yellow liquid and holds it between the two of you.

“S'il vous plaît!”  You plead while pressing up against the wall. He takes off the lid of the jar which releases the awful smell of it.

“Interesting aroma on this one. I made it four months ago and have been saving it for a special occasion.” He swirls it around and you see it is thicker and darker than most urine after having ‘aged’ in the jar for months. “I figure now is as good a time as any to use it.”

“Please, n-!” You are cut off by the horrible liquid being slowly poured over your head then down your belly, groin, legs, and finally your toes with the precision of someone coating a ham in sugary glaze. You sputter and blow air desperately from your nose in mouth in an attempt to rid them of the streaming urine.  Your eyes sting with the few droplets that got in them.

The worst is not the smell which is very pungent and can only be accurately describe as ‘death warmed over’. Nor is it the feeling of your hair and mask being matted to your head by the drenching liquid. No, the worst part is that it is cold. Cold, stale piss on every inch of your shaking body.  

“Now, that’s no good. You’re shivering from the cold. If only you could see how hard your nipples are. Ah.. I know what will warm you up.”

You have no choice but to sit there as you feel a steady stream of warm liquid pass over you with the same attention to detail as the first. With your eyes closed you can almost pretend it’s the world’s worst warm shower. Well golden shower.

He does another pass on your face to make sure some gets into your snarling mouth when you are not expecting it. You choke and spit but nothing can clean the taste of fresh piss on your lips. You hear pants zipping back up then bootsteps as he walks off but returns moment later.

A rough dry towel dabs at your eyes until they are dry enough to open without pain. He’s not smirking at you anymore and you see his small gun in his hand.

“Next time you try to backstab me it will be worse for you, boy.” He mummers.

Making sure that you are watching he raises his gun to your head and pulls the trigger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
